Damn Straight
by thecouchcarrot
Summary: Humorous Cas/Dean, with multiple POVs. Slight AU. Fluffy. Ch. 5: Sam sat in the Impala in the motel parking lot, praying that three and a half hours at the library had been long enough. Now Complete, continued in the sequel "Wait Wait Wait."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _Welcome to my fic! It's multi chapter, Cas/Dean, Human!Cas, no Wincest whatsoever, and various POVs will be used. It's slightly AU, in that it's set somewhere between the time that Cas turned human and the last episode of Season 5. In the show, this might have been about a day; in this universe, it's more like a few months._

_I hope you enjoy it; please review and let me know what you think. It really helps me to know that somebody is reading and doesn't think it's complete crap! All those who review will receive their very own Dean Winchester, ABSOLUTELY FREE! Now you two can reenact your very favorite _Supernatural_ episodes in the comfort of your own home. Comes complete with a leather jacket and a give 'em hell attitude! '67 Impala sold separately._

* * *

Sam would have figured out the whole thing a lot easier if Dean hadn't been so damn straight.

Dean was straight, completely and utterly straight. That was just a fact. And it wasn't the uber-macho homophobic kind of straight that makes you mutter, "Methinks thou dost protest too much." He was the kind of straight that would slap his brother on the ass and call him honey for the sake of a good joke. He was the kind of straight that slept with more women than Sam could count, and struck out with twice as many, but who would be hurt if he thought a single one of them was faking it. He was the kind of straight that unconsciously checked out every feminine form that crossed his path, unthinking, like it was some kind of pervy reflex. So when Sam never saw it coming, he couldn't be blamed.

If Dean had been even a teensy bit bi-curious, then Sam would have raised an eyebrow when Dean and Cas exchanged long, soulful, unflinching stares. Instead, he chalked it up to the fact that Cas was new at this "humanity" thing, and was unfamiliar with staring etiquette, and to the fact that Dean hated to look away first. He hated backing down from anything, certainly not a challenging gaze.

And the weirdly exclusive relationship they had? Yeah, Sam would've started getting suspicious a long time ago if Dean were just a little gayer. But instead he just figured that neither of them really had any other guy friends (excluding Sam, of course, but that was different because he was a brother to Dean and an apocalypse-starting, recovering demon-blood fiend to Cas). Plus, Cas had been the one to pull Dean from hell, which made him like his guardian angel or something, right? So they had a right to be closer to each other than they were to everyone else (again, except Sam).

But he wasn't completely dense. Even though Dean was completely, totally straight, Sam had started to wonder if Castiel didn't have some kind of crush on him. The dude had rebelled from heaven for Dean, for crying out loud, and he'd had enough time on Earth to learn to stop standing so uncomfortably close. And the way he looked at Dean sometimes, as if his entire world started and ended with him… Sam felt bad for the poor guy. He'd had his experiences with unrequited love back in the day, and it was excruciating. He debated whether or not he should let Dean know what was up. It would be kind of cruel to Castiel, but didn't Dean deserve to know?

And then he saw it.

It wasn't much, really. Nobody else would have even noticed. It was during the latest hunt, after the big bad hell monster got ahold of Dean and started wailing on him pretty fierce. _That _prompted Cas to take a crowbar to the thing's back, which effectively drew the monster's attention away from Dean but had the unfortunate side affect of focusing its wrath on Castiel. The monster flung the former angel across the room like a rag doll, and his body hit the wall with a sickening smack and crumpled to the ground.

It bought them just a millisecond of time, and Sam managed to aim the Colt and shoot the damn thing. It died instantly, falling to floor with a resounding _whumph_, and though Sam was grateful, it felt almost… anticlimactic. Dean dragged himself up, bloody and bruised, and scrambled over to Castiel's limp form.

"Cas, talk to me, man," Dean pleaded, rolling him over and clutching him desperately by the shoulders. Sam, still a bit dazed from his own bout with the creature, stumbled over, a quiet panic buzzing in his chest. Cas _couldn't_ die. He just couldn't. And yet, a trickle of blood was dripping down the angel's forehead, startlingly red against his pale skin. Cas had been human for a while, but it was still unnerving to see him bleed.

Dean slid one arm underneath the unconscious angel, cradling him upwards. "C'mon, Cas," he begged. "C'mon."

Sam couldn't help but think, _He's out, Dean, down for the count, now let's haul him to the Impala and patch him up_ but he stayed silent for the moment. He knew Dean just wanted a reassuring glimpse that Cas was still in there, still fighting. Instead, he crouched down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly, Castiel's eyes rolled open, dilated pupils struggling to focus. "Dean?" he groaned, his hand clutching Dean's sleeve.

Dean let out a shuddering breath, and a shaky smile split across his face. "Shit, Cas," he exclaimed. "You scared the hell outta me. You gotta be more careful."

Even through the fog of pain, Cas looked irritated. He closed his eyes. "My mistake," he ground out, gritting his teeth. "I suppose I was preoccupied with _saving your life_."

Dean grinned, he genuinely grinned, and shifted his grip on Cas (who, it seemed, was not quite up to sitting up on his own). "You just like playing the hero," he teased.

Cas lolled his head so that he was looking up into Dean's face. His lips curled up just tiniest bit, almost unnoticeably. "I don't play, Dean. I _am_ a hero," he quietly deadpanned.

And that's when it happened.

Dean's grin faded into a smile that was faint and soft, and his eyes seemed to hone in on Castiel's, and his head tilted down the smallest fraction, and – here's the clincher – his lips twitched. Just a tiny little twitch, but Sam spotted it all the same. He nearly choked and died of shock right there.

See, Sam knew that face. That was the face Dean had made dozens – no, _hundreds _– of times in Sam's presence. It was the face he made when he was about to kiss someone.

And he was making it at Castiel.

The past two and a half years began flashing before Sam's eyes, a _Sixth Sense_ -style revelation unraveling. All the staring contests, the weird physical and emotional closeness, the intense loyalty and the one-sided bantering and the out-of-place, third-wheel sensation Sam felt when caught between the two of them – it all made sense now.

_Oh my god_, Sam thought. _My brother is totally having sex with a fallen angel_.

Then Cas's eyes unfocused again, and his hand visibly tightened on Dean's arm. "Dean?" he grunted. "I believe I'm going to be unconscious in a moment." And, like clockwork, he slumped and fell insensible.

And then everything was a blur for the next few hours, the exhausting process of getting Cas to the motel and patching him up and then patching _themselves_ up and then debating whether or not he should go to the emergency room because his body wasn't used to being abused like this – it all kept Sam from thinking too hard about what happened. When he finally kicked off his jeans and fell into bed, his last conscious thoughts were, _You know what? There's a rational explanation for what happened. There is a rational explanation and Dean will tell it to me tomorrow because I am too tired to freak out about this._

When he awoke, the previous day's events seemed like a bad dream. Cas was asleep in the other bed, peaceful and serene looking, and Dean was sprawled on the futon, all dangling limbs and pillow drool. Totally normal (except for, you know, the Cas _sleeping _part). A lip twitch? Ha, Dean probably was just having one of those, "I'm so relieved I could _kiss_ you" moments. Better yet, Sam had probably just imagined the whole thing! He cheerfully left to grab some breakfast for the trio, confident that Castiel would wake up any minute and things would be all copacetic from here on out.

How wrong he was.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: _Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH to the people who reviewed the last chapter. You each get your very own Dean Winchester! Comes complete with a killer smile and severe daddy issues. Now remember, folks, you too can get a Dean for the low, low price of _completely free_ when you review this story. Run - don't walk - to your nearest review button!_

_Seriously though, I really appreciate reviews. It tells me that somebody is reading, and motivates me to finish the next chapter even though YouTube is _right there_, beckoning to me. _

_And now, for your reading pleasure, Chapter 2. _

* * *

Dean was a heterosexual man, plain and simple. It was absolutely ludicrous to suggest he was having warm and fuzzy feelings for a male former angel. Right?

He watched Cas sleep, totally unable to tear his eyes away. But then, he shouldn't have to. Dean had been put on Cas duty – which unfortunately meant taking the futon and waking Cas up every so often to make sure he wasn't comatose. The last time Dean's vibrating phone alarm woke him up, Sam was gone, probably to go get breakfast. Sam was gone, and Cas was asleep; Dean could stare as long as he damn well pleased now.

The sheer weirdness of that thought struck Dean. _I shouldn't _want _to stare at Cas at all, _he mentally chastised himself. _What the hell is wrong with me? _

Castiel had always made Dean feel weird. At first Dean had chalked it up to Cas being an angel, and when he met some of Castiel's bros he found he wasn't completely wrong. They were all intimidating as hell, and when they spoke in that spooky gravelly monotone of complete seriousness (a seriousness that the wisecracking Dean could never hope to match) it sent shivers down his spine. But when it was Cas, the shiver was accompanied by a sharp twist in his gut, like a hot poker being stabbed into him and wrenched around for good measure. But in a good way. Sort of.

Cas shifted a little in his sleep, snorting and twitching his brow. He looked so friggin' peaceful when he slept. Dean had the bizarre compulsion to reach out and caress his forehead, push back his hair and smooth the small bandage there. _Jesus Christ, I'm losing my mind. Or my testosterone. Something._

The first time Dean had any inkling that something might be wrong with him was when he had a dream about Cas. Specifically, a dream about having sex with him. Really, really hot sex. It was creepy as all hell, but he wasn't too freaked out; after all, everyone's entitled to a few freaky same-sex dreams in their lifetime. Hell, the dreams he'd had about doing _himself _were much more troubling. So Dean sort of brushed it aside, and he would have prayed that Cas hadn't happened to spy in on it if he hadn't been afraid Cas would hear his prayer.

But then it happened again. And again.

Pretty soon Cas dreams were a regular feature in Dean's sleep cinema, and while it was disturbing, he refused to accept it as a sign of some deeper perversion. If there was one thing Dean Winchester was extremely good at, besides killing demonic sons of bitches, it was denial, and if there were two things, they were denial and pleasuring women. Therefore, he stubbornly denied that it meant jack squat. So his subconscious was a weird place. And? What else was new? Dean was straight, and he knew that much because he liked screwing women and didn't even have the tiniest desire to screw men, at least in real life. His dreams were fake, imaginary, and if Cas tried any funny business in the real world Dean wouldn't be turned on at all. Probably.

But when Cas fell yesterday, his heart had gone into double time. And when he'd propped Cas up, he must have had some kind of palpitation from all the stress or something because when the dude gave him that tiny, private smile, his heart had freaking… _fluttered_. Like he was an eighth-grade schoolgirl and Castiel was Justin Bieber.

So now he stood by the side of the bed, telling himself he was gonna wake Cas up _any minute now_ and unable to bring himself to do it. Maybe someone had cursed him. Cursed him to feel mildly ill whenever he stayed too close to his formerly celestial comrade-in-arms for too long – dizzy, pulse racing, dry in the mouth, short of breath. That was definitely what had happened.

Even Dean Winchester wasn't _that_ good at denial.

And okay, yeah, _some_ people would tell Dean that his symptoms were suspiciously similar to the way he'd felt around Chelsea Long, the cute sophomore girl he'd met in Dallas when he was thirteen. His first-ever crush. Dean would tell those people that A) He was no longer in middle school, thank you very much, that was a long time ago so stop bringing it up and B) Clearly they'd never met Cas.

Cas wasn't someone you got a preteen crush on. He wasn't seductive or enticing at all. He was awkward, painfully honest, badly dressed, remote, frustrating as all hell, sincere, clueless, unreadable, courageous, naïve, intimidating, earnest, attractive…

Okay, maybe he was someone that, like, _women_ had preteen crushes on. But not Dean.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, lacking an excuse not to. His fingers twitched and he brushed them across Cas's wrist. "Cas," he whispered, touching him lightly, "you comatose yet?"

Cas's eyes squeezed shut even harder. "No," he mumbled. "Leave."

"C'mon, man, let me see your eyes."

Cas sighed and opened them reluctantly. The pupils were normal, and he seemed to be tracking just fine. They were… really blue. As always.

"Alright, buddy." Dean patted his shoulder. "You get the green light. You can float back to dreamland."

Cas closed his eyes. "Don't patronize me," he muttered, dragging the sheets tighter around him.

Dean smiled. He and Sam had discovered the hard way that Cas was not a morning person. Dean had tried to get him to take up coffee, but the guy had taken one sip and promptly spat it back into the cup. "That is horrible," he'd said. "I don't want it."

"It's kind of an acquired taste," Dean had explained.

Cas had glared at the cup with such ferocity that Dean had half expected it to burst into flames. "That is _not_ a taste I would like to acquire," he'd growled.

So they were stuck with groggy, cranky Cas. By the time Dean had finished reminiscing about that amusing episode, Cas had already slipped back into a dead sleep, snoring lightly with the blanket twisted in his closed fists.

Something in Dean crumbled, and his hand reached out of its own accord. He smoothed the bandage on Cas's hairline, and his fingertips accidentally brushed the soft skin, light as a feather. For some totally unconnected reason, a part of Dean's stomach flipped over and his heart squeezed painfully.

It was at that moment that the door opened, and Sam strode in with breakfast.

Dean snatched his hand back like it was on a hot stove. "Cas went back to sleep," he whispered.

Sam stared at Dean, then at Cas, and narrowed his eyes. He'd clearly seen exactly what Dean hadn't wanted him to. An expression of morally superior disapproval crossed Sam's face. It was his "You dog, you" face, the one he usually reserved for when particularly trashy women lurched out of their motel room, or when Dean flirted with a girl who looked just a hair too youthful.

"What's that face for?" Dean demanded, trying to keep his voice down.

"Dude," Sam uttered, sounding mildly incredulous. "Cas? Really?"

Dean frowned. "What about him?"

Sam sighed. "Don't play coy with me, Dean, I know what's going on. Look, man, I don't know who started it, and I get that _he_ probably thinks it's a great idea, but you should know better. The poor guy's having a hard enough time adjusting to being human without you…. _defiling_ him."

Christ, the kid was obtuse sometimes. Dean glared even harder. "Defiling him? What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped. "I was fixing his bandage. Is tending to the wounded suddenly a punishable offense or something?"

"Seriously? You're just going to deny everything?" Sam asked, exasperated. "I thought we were trying out this whole honesty thing."

"Sammy." Dean reined in his frustration and used his most serious tone, and looked his brother straight in the eyes. "I swear to you, I have _no idea_ what you're implying. Just spit it out."

Dean could see something change in his brother's eyes as he realized that Dean was telling the truth. "Oh." Suddenly a flush crept up Sam's cheeks. "So. You and Cas aren't…."

"Me and Cas aren't _what?_" Dean snarled.

Sam blushed harder. "You and Cas aren't… intimate?"

Dean nearly leapt off the bed. He opened his mouth to yell obscenities when, at the last moment, he remembered that Cas was still sleeping. He pointed at the door. "Outside, _now_," he muttered through gritted teeth.

As soon as the door was closed, Dean shoved Sam in the shoulder. Hard. "Why in _God's name_ would you think Cas and I are _intimate_?" he hissed.

"I dunno, there were a lot of signs!" Sam protested, babbling quickly. "I didn't imagine it, I know I didn't, and at first I thought it was just him but then I saw you doing it too and you act different around him and it was the only thing that made sense –"

"Act different?" Dean barked. "What the hell do you mean, Sammy? I treat Cas just like everybody else." _Exactly like everybody else_, something inside him insisted. _I make sure of that! I make sure of that…_

Something dawned over Sam's face. "Ohhh," he breathed. "So you just _want_ Cas."

Dean felt the blood rush to his cheeks, which was stupid because he didn't have anything to be embarrassed about, because he didn't want Cas. "Listen, Sammy boy," he choked, trying to regain his composure. "You are dead wrong."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You were going to kiss him, Dean," he accused.

"What? No! When?" Dean sputtered.

"Yesterday, in the warehouse. I saw your lip twitch!" he exclaimed. "You were making _that _face. And I've seen you pick up at least a hundred women, Dean, and trust me _you have a face_."

"So, my lip twitches and you immediately leap to _Cas and I are fucking?_" Dean demanded, disbelieving.

It was Sam's turn to go red. "I – I wrongly assumed that if you had feelings for Cas you'd have acted on them by now," he stuttered. "You're not exactly a shrinking violet, man. And he obviously has the hots for you."

The bottom of Dean's stomach dropped out. He opened his mouth to speak and nothing happened. He coughed. Finally he managed to croak, "What makes you say that?"

Sam was fire-engine red now. "I dunno, a lot of stuff. The way he stands near you, the way he looks at you… It's so obvious, man. I'm sorta surprised you didn't realize already."

A thrill of adrenaline coursed through Dean's veins, the very suggestion of Cas being interested in him making his heart pump faster and leap into his throat. And at that moment, Dean knew that he wasn't cursed, or hexed, or jinxed. It could never be that easy. No, he was definitely, totally, one hundred percent sexually attracted to the man sleeping in his motel room.

He was definitely, totally, one hundred percent screwed.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:_ You guys are fantastic. Everybody who reviewed, thank you a million times over. You have no idea how happy it makes me to see a new review in my inbox. It's like Christmas, but _better_. Please keep it up - I love and need feedback. Every one of you gets your own Dean Winchester, now with added fraternal codependency and an extra dash of charm. _

_And now, as per popular request, the chapter from Castiel's point of view._

* * *

Castiel had ceased to be a true angel of the Lord some time ago; even so, he secretly feared that revealing his feelings toward Dean Winchester would call down the wrath of heaven. Of course, the wrath of heaven would be insignificant compared to the wrath of Dean himself.

He sighed and fingered the bandage on his forehead. He was lucky to have the Winchesters at a time like this, stripped of his powers and dangerously mortal. He needed to be more aware of his limitations. At the time, he'd only been aware of Dean being pummeled to death. Fear had kicked in and he'd acted impulsively. His gamble had paid off.

_I'm no longer a good soldier_, Castiel thought, a small swell of pride growing in his chest. _I'm a _rogue.

The Winchesters were rogues. They followed no laws, heeded no one's authority, but instead obeyed a deeply ingrained internal sense of right and wrong. _Most of the time_, Castiel corrected. Like all humans, they sometimes failed. Sam in particular had failed spectacularly, with disastrous consequences, but he was trying to atone for his mistakes. Castiel had forgiven him long ago.

Sunlight streamed through the crack between the curtains, a golden bar slicing through the empty motel room. Castiel sat up and checked the clock – one in the afternoon. The brothers were likely getting food. His own stomach grumbled in sympathy and Castiel shuddered. He was still not entirely used to hunger. He disliked it. He felt apathetic towards food, and eating was a chore, but he ate heartily to stave off that awful sensation.

Dean was forever trying to get Castiel to try his favorite foods. Mostly he'd been successful, except for with coffee. Castiel loathed coffee, and considering Dean's sweet tooth he had no idea why Dean didn't loathe it also. Evidently the bitter flavor was considered a small price for the effects of the caffeine, but Castiel didn't want caffeine _that _badly.

He warily eyed the coffeemaker lurking in the shadows of the kitchenette. "It's kind of an acquired taste," Dean had said. Castiel snorted. _So are cigarettes, _he mentally retorted_. I'm beginning to quite enjoy them now._

That was a lie. Castiel had smoked one cigarette, mainly out of curiosity, and Dean had been furious. It was probably the most disgusting thing he'd ever tasted (although coffee was a close second), but Dean had been absurdly worried that Cas was going to turn into some sort of tobacco fiend. Dean had eventually revealed that, in the future, he'd seen that Cas the human had a predilection for substance abuse. He kept calling nicotine a "gateway drug."

Strangely, Dean didn't care that caffeine was also a narcotic.

Just as Castiel was considering getting up and calling the brothers, Sam and Dean walked in the door.

"Hey Cas," Dean greeted him, beaming and clutching a greasy paper bag. "We come bearing gifts. Also known as taquitos."

Castiel slid out from under the blankets and grabbed his pants. He'd been informed that pants-wearing was the foundation of civilized society, and that they should be worn as often as possible. Castiel had borne witness to the advent of society, so he knew it was untrue, but he understood it was meant to be a lesson. Nudity, even partial nudity, was frowned upon.

As Castiel searched for his shirt, Sam set the taquitos on the table and shucked off his jacket while Dean rifled through his duffel. Castiel pawed through the blankets, unable to locate the missing garment.

"Here," he heard Dean say roughly.

Castiel glanced up to see Dean holding out one of his own shirts at arm's length. He frowned. "That isn't mine."

Dean's cheeks tinged pink and he cleared his throat. "All your shirts are really gross," he explained. "Bloody and torn and shit. We'll, uh, we'll have to go to the laundromat."

"Oh." Castiel accepted the proffered shirt and pulled it on. "Thank you." It was loose in the arms and stretched out in all the wrong places, but it would do. He smiled a little to show that he was grateful even though the shirt fit badly, oddly pleased to wear something that belonged to Dean.

Dean echoed a small smile of his own, then flushed bright red and spun around, honing in on the taquitos. "Hey, leave some for me, Stretch," he teased Sam.

Suddenly Castiel's head ached much worse than it had before.

Dean could see right through him, he was certain, and he was avoiding what he saw. Castiel felt as transparent as a pane of glass around the man, unable to conceal anything from those piercing green eyes. There was an American idiom that went, "You can't bullshit a bullshitter." Dean was an expert bullshitter, and the only person in his blind spot was his brother. Unfortunately, Castiel had things he needed to conceal from Dean. Specifically, the depth of his feeling towards him.

Over the years Dean had made his stance on relationships very clear. He had only four categories, in descending order: _brother_, _father_, _ally_, and _lover_. He didn't have a place for an angel. Castiel knew he wanted to be more than an ally, but he also felt distinctly that he didn't want to be a brother. Some strange part of him had whispered about _lover_, but that was an impossibility. Dean was only attracted to women, and besides, it was the least important role one could have in Dean's life. Lovers had nothing to do with love in Dean's world.

Castiel did love Dean, with his whole heart. And the more time he spent trapped in this body, the more he realized that his _body_ loved Dean too. It loved the way he looked in worn blue jeans, sunning himself on the hood of the Impala; it loved the shape of his torso in a clingy black tee, the swell of his biceps and the silhouette of his waist; it loved the bristly stubble dusting his chin and the smoothness of the cheekbone above it; it loved the color of his eyes and the shape of his nose and the curve of his smile – his blinding, brilliant smile. It loved him all. It loved him… too much.

It worried Castiel when he'd realized that he loved Dean more than he loved God. It used to be something of a close call but now that God had pushed him away – it was no contest. He was breaking the first and foremost of God's laws, and enjoying it. He feared he might be tempting retribution.

It also worried Castiel that he loved Dean more than Dean loved him.

He had always known that his love for Dean was more powerful than the kind of love Dean felt comfortable expressing towards another man, but once he had hoped that Dean might grow to feel as deeply, if more platonically. If he could earn Dean's loyalty and trust, he thought, it would be almost as good as earning his love.

He'd come to realize that he was wrong.

Yes, Dean was capable of great and abiding love. He'd seen Dean's soul. He knew the tortures he'd endured to save his brother's life. He'd witnessed the incredible bond between the two men, and lengths Dean would go to for Sam. But Castiel also knew that Dean's love for Sam was the exception to the rule, and even with Sam, Dean shied away from displays of affection. Perhaps years down the road, Dean would permit Castiel to hug him; more likely than not, he would only allow it if he were dying. Speaking of their emotions would be strictly forbidden.

Castiel felt differently. He wanted to put his hands on Dean, to be near him physically, to show him with his touch how much he was wanted and tell him with his words how highly he was valued.

Dean would find that abhorrent. Dean would find the fact that Cas _wanted_ that abhorrent. Dean would find Cas abhorrent.

So, Castiel kept his feelings to himself, and settled for a working partnership, but his feelings still existed. Slowly but surely, Dean was going to discover Cas, and when that day came, Cas was prepared to leave. It would "hurt like a bitch," as Dean would say, but he was prepared.

He prayed it wasn't today.

Castiel approached the small table where the brothers were eating and sat down, taking a taquito for himself. He sampled it. It was… passable. The insides were hot and gooey and kept trying to escape.

"Dude, you got shum on your fayshe," Dean grunted around a huge mouthful.

Castiel paused. He couldn't feel anything on his face. "Where?"

"Corner of your mouth," Dean replied, swallowing.

He licked the corner of his mouth.

A strange look came over Dean's face. "Other side," he corrected.

He licked the other corner. "Did I get it?" he inquired.

"Not all of it," Dean answered, sounding strained.

"Here's a napkin!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing a handful of napkins from the paper bag and tossing them at Castiel. He quickly stood up from the table and grabbed the keys to the Impala. "I'm going to go get – research, or something. Bye!" The door slammed and a few seconds later, the Impala rumbled to life.

Dean glared at the door. "Baby," he muttered.

Castiel wiped his face with a napkin, extremely confused. There was clearly something going on between Sam and Dean, but it wasn't his place to pry. Instead, he offered the generic line "Is everything alright?"

Dean sighed and dragged his hand down his face. "Yeah, yeah. Listen, Cas." He stared at the table. "I, uh, I got somethin' to tell you."

Castiel waited patiently.

"It's just that – " His adam's apple bobbed, and he drummed his fingers. "I've known you for a long time and – _Christ._ I am so not ready –" He broke off into a nervous chuckle. "You know what? Bad idea. My mistake. Forget I said anything."

Castiel felt a horrible dread creeping up his spine. "Dean." It came out like a plea.

Dean glanced at him, eyes flickering back and forth nervously. "Look, it's not your fault. You shouldn't have to deal with – I'll handle this, okay? I'm good. We're good. I don't know why I thought you – "

"Dean." This time, it came out like a command. "Tell me."

"Cas." Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "How do you feel about me?"

The dread was now an icy cold vise around Castiel's heart. "Dean," he said quietly, "please don't ask me that."

Dean's eyes flew open. "Why not?" he breathed, his eyes glued to Castiel's.

"Because I don't want to lie," Castiel admitted. "And you won't like the truth."

Dean swallowed and exhaled slowly, his eyes not leaving Cas's for one second, and growled, "Screw it. Screw Sam. I'm going for it." And then he leaned forward, gingerly cupped Castiel's face with both hands, and pressed his mouth to Castiel's own.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:_ I know you're probably getting tired of hearing this, but I have to say it: THANK YOU. Thank you for reviewing. It makes me feel like I'm doing something right here. All of you lovely, lovely people get a Dean Winchester, totally free, as promised. Your Dean comes with an abandonment complex and a healthy serving of badass, and should arrive in 5-10 business days. _

_And now, for this week's incentive, let's mix it up a bit. Everyone who reviews gets their very own Castiel! Castiel, reviving trenchcoat fashions since 2008. Get yours _today!

_Without further ado, the chapter. _

* * *

Kissing Cas, Dean's first thought was nothing at all. His mind went totally blank, completely overwhelmed by the electric sensation that was making his lips tingle and his toes curl. A mere kiss hadn't bowled him over this thoroughly since junior high. For a minute, there was no apocalypse, no angelic douchebags hunting their asses, no demonic sons of bitches gunning for them, nothing but him and Cas, here and now. Everything was… _right_.

His second thought was _Holy crap, I'm kissing a man. And it's _fantastic_._

The kiss was short and sweet; Dean wasn't trying anything fancy. He leaned in and just – _kissed_, his lips gently meeting Cas's for a few seconds, and then pulled back to look in Cas's eyes, still only a breath away, trying to gauge the ex-angels' reaction.

Cas's eyes were wide open, staring into Dean's, utterly shocked. And, Dean saw, more than a little frightened. He realized his hands were still on Cas's face, and he brushed his thumb along Cas's cheekbone. Cas's eyes fluttered closed, and Dean was so close that he could _feel _him inhale shakily.

"Hey," Dean murmured, a bit scared himself but trying to sound cool and collected. "Is this okay, Cas?" It occurred to him that he might have been the first person to kiss Cas. Ever. It occurred to him that maybe Cas didn't _want_ to be kissed.

Cas's eyes opened, capturing Dean's instantly. They were so blue, so – everything.

Dean was finding it hard to breathe, and his heart was trying to escape from his chest. "You with me?" he whispered. Maybe he'd read this whole thing all wrong.

And suddenly Cas launched forward, crushing their mouths together and making it impossible to breathe except in quick, desperate gasps, his hands roaming through Dean's hair and clutching at his shirt. What he lacked in technique he made up for with enthusiasm.

It was awesome.

They continued in a similar vein for some time, and it wasn't until several minutes later that a lightbulb turned on over Dean's head. He yanked his mouth away from Cas's neck and gasped, "Shit! _Sam!_"

"What about him?" Cas panted.

Dean groaned and nuzzled his nose into Cas's collarbone. "He'll be _back_. Eventually." Then he realized he was _nuzzling _(_what the hell dude what the hell_) and extricated himself from Cas. "We better cool off. He… probably won't be happy about this."

Cas frowned that adorable baffled frown of his (_Adorable? What is _wrong _with you can you _get_ any girlier_) and asked, "Why not?"

Dean sucked in his breath between his teeth. "Weeelll, he may have strongly advised me _against _doing what I just did. Actually, he thought we were already doing what we just did and he told me to stop doing that, but it actually just put ideas into my head and…" He shrugged and tried out his best sheepishly apologetic face. "Here we are." Dean clapped his hands together and flashed a winning smile. "Now, what say we case the local watering holes?"

Cas, however, would not be distracted. "Why did Sam tell you not to kiss me?"

It was strange to hear it said out loud. _I kissed Cas_. Dean replied without thinking first, responding, "Sam was misinformed. He thought that we were fuck buddies or something, and you know Sam. He doesn't approve of that kind of stuff."

Cas cocked his head. "So we're not?"

Dean had no idea what Cas meant.

"We're not… fuck buddies?" Cas clarified.

"No, dude!" Dean exclaimed. "Besides, we haven't even – done that, yet. We're, uh, we're like friends with benefits."

"How is that different?"

_Good question_. "Well, you know, friends with benefits is better. It's not like the first one, we're not just fooling around, we're also friends who… fool around."

Truthfully, Dean was just making this up off the top of his head. All he knew was that for some reason, he didn't want Cas to think he was just in it for the sex, which was weird because that's _exactly_ what he was in it for, right? Well, not _sex_, per se, because Cas was a virgin and the sex wouldn't be too great. Probably. But the sexual-type activities they were currently engaging in – that's what Dean was after. Not some run-away-to-Massachussets-and-get-married grand romantic love affair complete with the last-minute dash to the airport and wedding on the beach. He was still a _man_, for Christ's sake. He and Cas weren't wildly in gay love, they were just two straight dudes who happened to want to sex each other up. Friends with benefits.

Riiight.

Cas simply gazed at Dean silently. Which, okay, wasn't exactly unusual for the guy, but this time his silence felt heavy, meaningful, like he was very deliberately _not_ saying something very important. Something Dean should already know.

Dean really didn't want to talk about this anymore. He was really bad at this, this chick flick heart-to-heart sappy crap. What he wanted was to take Cas back in his arms and kiss him all over and make him forget this entire conversation. He wanted it so badly it was almost a need. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that Sam would be back and his desire to remain in control of himself, his emotions, the whole situation. Control was very quickly slipping away from him.

_Cas was right to be scared_, he thought. _This shit is terrifying._

So he compromised. He stood up, hauled Cas to his feet, and clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's get out of here," he urged. "Let's go have a little fun for once."

Cas nodded, his lips twitching upwards into a faint smile. "Alright."

Before Dean could stop himself, his hand slid over Cas's shoulder to the side of his neck, and they were kissing again, soft and breathless and warm.

When their lips parted, Dean stared at Cas, unable to keep the wonder from his face. What the hell _was _this? How did this former angel keep drawing him in like a magnet, almost against his will? Why had his brain suddenly been swapped with that of a squealing junior high girl? _Would he ever get his masculinity back?_ And most importantly – why did just standing here in the same space as Cas, mentally flipping his shit and panicking about his Y chromosome, make him _so goddamn happy_?

Cas stared back, looking just as astounded but astounded about _Dean_, peering at him as if he could see into his soul if he just tried hard enough. And maybe he could. He still had a speck of angel left in him, after all.

At that thought, Dean pried himself away and strode to the door, holding it open gallantly and bowing exaggeratedly, complete with several circular gestures of his outstretched hand. "After you, good sir."

So that's how they ended up piss drunk in some dank dive three hours later, singing along at the top of their lungs to the crappy music playing from a beat-up jukebox. "Ohhhhhh, you can't tell me it's not worth tryin' for!" Dean bellowed at Cas, clenching his fists in mimed frustration. He was vaguely aware that he looked like an idiot, but he was having way too much fun to care.

"I can't HEEELP it, there's nothing I want more!" Cas belted back, using his beer bottle as a microphone. He looked so good like that, his face flushed and totally open, unguarded. Dean wasn't sure how Cas already knew this song, but he totally planned on giving him crap about it later.

Dean clutched Cas's shirt in his fist, using the other to raise his beer upwards triumphantly as they yelled the bridge together. "Yeah I would FIIIGHT FOR YOU! I'd LIIIIEE FOR YOU! Walk the WIIIIIIIRE FOR YOU! Yeah I'd DIE FOR YOOOOOU-UUUUU…."

They both trailed off and suddenly, all the air in the room was gone. Dean swayed into Cas's space, feeling twice as unsteady as he had the moment before.

"You know it's true," the song continued quietly in the background. "Everything I do, I do it for you."

Cas placed a hand on Dean's chest to steady him, but all it did was make Dean's skin burn and his pulse speed up.

"Cas," he breathed. "Cas." He could feel himself about to say something he probably shouldn't.

"Dean," Cas answered, eyes bright and struggling to focus.

"We're not… we're not friends with benefits," Dean mumbled. The words bubbled up, tumbling out of him unbidden. "Shit, we're so much _more_ than that, dude. I don't know, I don't know what we are but I wanted you to know that you. You mean a lot to me."

Dean wasn't sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the line he had fallen for Cas, hard. He was having a hard time articulating it in his drunken state, but he knew his drunken state was the only reason he was articulating it at all. Try as he might to deny it, it wasn't just physical attraction between them; kissing Cas was like nothing he'd ever felt. And even now, just standing here with him, Dean could feel affection and possessiveness radiating through his whole body, making him want to grab ahold of Cas in front of everybody and tell the world _He's mine, all mine_. But that wasn't even the weirdest part.

He wanted to tell them _I'm his, all his_.

Yeah, weird didn't even begin to describe it.

Cas smiled at him, a wide and blinding grin, and leaned forward to whisper in Dean's ear. "Let's get out of here."

Dean chuckled. "You propo - propositionin' me?"

Cas's grin faded into a smirk, and something dark and predatory flashed in his eyes. "Yes."

Dean couldn't call a cab fast enough.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: _Oh, you wonderful people, you! You reviewed! And you wrote such nice things, too. You have once again renewed my faith in humanity. When I read your reviews, it's as if the bleakness of my love life disappears, and I am no longer on the fast track to becoming a crazy cat lady! Please review again to distract me from the pathetically desolate reality of my existence.*_

_And now, on to the important business. This chapter comes back to Sam's POV, and in my original (very vague) plan for this story, it was to be the last chapter. Now that I've actually written it, I think it could go either way; I'm certainly not out of ideas, but if I continue in the direction this is leading, I think it'll be multiple chapters before I can wrap it up. I want to know what you guys think. Should I leave it as it stands, keep writing chapters, OR third option: continue the story as a sequel? Please review and let me know. _

_*Management apologizes for the author's bitterness. The author will be removed and severely chastised, and replaced by an author who is less self-deprecating. Thank you for your patience. _

* * *

Sam Winchester was an intelligent man – very intelligent, by most standards. So when his brother started leering at a former angel across the lunch table, Sam got out of there fast, and he didn't come back for a long, long time.

He sat in the Impala in the motel parking lot, praying that three and a half hours at the library had been long enough.

One would hope that if things between Dean and Castiel got serious, they would have the common sense to get their own room, but Sam had been burned before. Get a few drinks in Dean and he lost all sense of decency and decorum in favor of convenience; if Sam didn't make a point of saying "I'll head back _to the motel_," Dean would assume he got dibs on the room. The best you could expect from Drunk Dean was a sock on the door, and that was a high expectation indeed. He didn't know if Dean would get drunk with Cas while he was gone, but he couldn't be sure.

So naturally, when Sam approached the motel room door, he did so with some apprehension. He knocked forcefully three times.

No response.

Well, at least there weren't any telltale moans or ecstatic cries coming from the room either.

Cringing and squinting his eyes to the smallest slit possible, Sam opened the door very very slowly. "Hello? Anybody home?" he called.

Miraculously, the room was empty. It seemed that for once in his life, Dean had been considerate of his brother. Sam heaved a sigh of relief and pulled out his laptop, eager to settle into an evening of research. Unfortunately, it was never to be.

Not fifteen minutes after Sam had first arrived, the motel door slammed open and Dean and Cas stumbled in, too busy playing a vigorous game of tonsil hockey to watch where they were going. It was like a horrible, horrible car accident – Sam desperately wanted to look away but just couldn't. Yeah, he'd been sort of expecting it, but nothing could have prepared him for the gruesomeness of the actual event. They were pawing at each other, and making these ridiculous noises, and _Jesus Christ_ they were trying to suck each other's brains out through the mouth. Cas mauled Dean backwards into a nightstand and a lamp crashed to the ground, and Dean growled – seriously, he _growled_ – and threw Cas onto the bed.

Sam blinked. _Holy shit, they aren't going to stop,_ he realized. _They are going to have sex right here in this room _with me in it_. _

Dean had already frantically peeled his shirt halfway off before Sam managed to jump up and shout, "GUYS! I'm RIGHT. HERE."

They froze, staring at Sam, eyes like deer in the headlights (if those deer were heavily intoxicated), Dean swaying ever so slightly where he stood. Then Dean palmed his forehead. "Shiiiit, man, that's why we _leeeeeeft_," he moaned. "_Sammy's_ here." Then he grinned down at Cas. "Jeez, Cas, you are a _stupid _drunk. That is – what you are."

Cas bolted up, outraged. "_I _am stupid drunk?" he exclaimed, his gravelly voice slurring slightly. "No no no, _you_ are stupid. I – the entirety of human knowledge, to me –" His face suddenly blanched. "I'm going to vomit." And with that, he dashed to the bathroom and proceeded to puke his guts out.

Dean glared at Sam and bellyflopped horizontally across the bed. "'S all your fault," he accused. "Ruinin' my evenining."

"How is it _my_ fault?" Sam demanded.

"Cas took one look at your ugly mug an' it made him barf," Dean explained, chuckling. "By the way, little bro, you were right. _Totally_ has the hots for me." Dean rolled onto his back, his arms outstretched above his head and dangling off the bed. "And he – he is _smokin'_, Sammy. Like I thought it would be weird kissin' him cuz he's a dude an' all but man you have _got_ to try it, not with Cas though Cas is mine but like just kiss a dude and see if he does this thing with his _tongue_ –"

"Dean! Stop!" Oh, gross. Too much information. He and Dean had had some disturbing conversations, but this was quickly climbing to the top of the list. Sam groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please, I don't need to know. I've already seen things that can't be unseen. Now, why don't you go help Cas clean up, and then you two can go… get a room. Literally."

Dean huffed. "Cas doesn't like help when he gets sick. Hates people watchin'. Thought you knew that."

Sam crossed his arms. "Am I the one who drags him out to bars constantly and gets him plastered because Sam is driving and I hate drinking alone?"

Dean blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly. "No. That's me. I do that."

Sam sighed. "The question was _rhetorical_, Dean, you don't have to – you know what, never mind. The point is, I'd appreciate it if you two took it somewhere else. I'm trying to research."

"Whatever, bitch," Dean retorted noncommittally, scratching his belly. "You're not researching, you're lookin' at YouTube videos of kittens and shit."

"Jesus, that was _one time_!" Sam protested.

The toilet flushed and Cas emerged from the bathroom, looking worse for the wear. "I'm sorry Dean," he mumbled. "I think I should sleep now."

"Hey." Dean got up from the bed and staggered over to Cas. "Don't 'pologize, dude. Not your fault. I shouldn'a got you so liquored up." He hooked one arm around Cas's neck and glowered at Sam. "But Yao Ming over here wants us out, so I guess we gotta go to th' desk…"

Sam sighed inwardly. Damn his bleeding heart, but Cas just looked so pale and exhausted that he couldn't help but take pity on the guy. "Wait, look. If you're just going to sleep, you can sleep in here."

Dean grinned, winked and made gunfingers at Sam, making a clicking noise with his mouth. "Thanks a million."

"_Only sleep_," Sam warned. Then he moved his computer so that his back was to the beds, because Drunk Dean was handsy and Sick Cas looked so pathetic there was no _way_ that snuggling was not going to occur. And while yes, Sam would probably have to get used to it eventually, he'd had more than enough _thoroughly weird_ for one night.

He wasn't sure what about the pair that was so weird in _particular_; it was just a combination of the discomfort and distaste Sam always experienced when Dean was macking on some girl in front of him and the fact that it was Dean and _Cas_. Castiel, ex-angel of the Lord, awkwardness incarnate. Posterboy for "People Who Are Totally Chaste and Would Not Know Flirtation If It Pinched Them on the Ass." Friggin' _Cas_. Slobbering all over _Dean_.

He heard the thunk-thunk of shoes coming off, the familiar sound of clothes rustling and jeans unzipping. One of them flicked the light off, which was fine with Sam since his screen was bright, but it irritated him that they didn't ask first. Then there was the annoyingly loud creaking of rusty bedsprings, Dean chuckling, a whispered rebuke from Cas, a sigh from Dean, and then quiet. A few minutes later, they were both competing for the prestigious Loudest Snorer award, and Sam was satisfied that he was safe from any nighttime funny business. He plugged his headphones in, pulled up his iTunes, and – surprise, surprise – actually got some research done.

_Nobody said that being the world's best brother would be easy, Sam,_ he counseled himself. _And, to be fair, you were kind of the one who got things rolling. _

Having the whole afternoon to himself, Sam had had a lot of time to think. The more he'd thought about Dean and Cas together, the more it started to make sense. Yesterday, he'd been totally blown away by the concept that Dean could be lusting after a man, but he'd come to terms with that. Then he'd been pissed because he thought Dean and Cas were sneaking around behind his back, and that turned out to be untrue. Then he'd been a little pissed on Castiel's behalf, because Cas clearly cared about Dean and Dean was taking advantage of it because he was a horny douche. But later, he'd finally realized – there was no way this was just about sex. Dean was _straight_, except, apparently, when it came to Cas. That had to mean something, right? There had to be some deeper connection there. And if Dean was on the road to a deeper connection with _anybody_, Sam was in favor of it; the fact that it was Cas was merely a small speedbump.

Sure, pursuing this relationship probably wasn't a _wise_ choice, considering Dean's truckload of emotional baggage, Castiel's sudden mortality and the impending doom that was hovering over all of their heads, but when had the Winchesters ever played it smart? Running away to Stanford had seemed like the smart choice at the time, his best shot at a normal life, but honestly, the logic of the decision had been a thin veneer for Sam's emotional need to go out and get something that _he _wanted for _himself, _not something for his Dad or anybody else.

When Sam thought about it, Dean had never really gotten that. He'd never gotten the chance to pursue the dream, to go after something he desperately longed for and _take it, _no matter what anyone else said.

Maybe Castiel could be Dean's Stanford.

And if he was really honest with himself, Sam hoped Castiel could be Dean's Jessica, too. As much as it still smarted to picture her face, back then to Sam she'd been… hope incarnate. Life. Promise. And Sam wanted Dean to have that, even for a little while.

Sappy as it sounded, Sam wanted Dean to have a chance at love.

As soon as he thought that, a rueful smile sprung to Sam's face, and he bit back the laughter bubbling up in his chest. _Man, Dean would punch me _so hard_ if he ever heard me say that._

Sam rubbed his neck, which had become sore from craning at the computer screen, and flipped his laptop shut. Time to call it a night. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow Dean and Cas would have the decency to be embarrassed about their behavior and Sam could lord it over them. This permanently scarring experience _could_ turn out to be the best ammunition he'd ever had.

He sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself and smirking at the sound of twin chainsaws running in the other bed. _One can only hope_.


End file.
